The Science of Friendship
by Demolition.Lover.14
Summary: It wasn't until we were both seventeen that everything changed for us, and from that day on nothing was ever the same again. My name is Eliza Wilde and this is the story of how I became friends with Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

_**1.**_

I met Sherlock Holmes when I was eleven; our parents were of the same social status and attended the same functions, so to keep us out of their way our parents forced our company upon each other. They expected Sherlock and I to be friends, and even sent us to the same prestigious boarding school. I made feeble attempts at a friendship, but it wasn't until we were both seventeen that everything changed.

Leaning against my locker, I waited impatiently for Charlotte. We still had ten minutes until our first lesson, and the room was only just along the corridor, but she took forever to get ready.

Bored, I let my gaze wander down the corridor, where they rested on Sherlock. He was waiting outside the classroom, his eyes darting about. He was observing people. That was what he did; he reduced our French teacher to a breakdown with his deductions a couple of years ago, but the school couldn't expel him because he had very influential family members that made regular (and generous) donations.

"He is such a weirdo," a snide voice muttered from behind me. Hey, Charlotte.

"Who?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"Holmes." She nodded in his direction and I looked again. A couple, holding hands and laughing, walked past him, speeding up when he turned his gaze in their direction. "Seriously, watching people is not cool."

Charlotte asked Sherlock out once and he turned her down with a scathing remark about having standards. She wasn't used to being turned down.

"When is he going to crawl out from under his rock and be normal?" she asked. She was still bitter.

"When hell freezes over probably," I joked with a weak grin. Charlotte smiled fondly at me, like I was her pet, and looped her arm through mine as we walked down the corridor.

My friendship with Charlotte never ceased to amaze me. She was a popular girl, the sort that wore her skirt too short and her shirt too tight with one button too many undone. I was envious of her pretty, doll like features. She could drive the boys crazy with a bat of her mascara coated eyelashes and a flick of her hips.

All the boys but Sherlock, I reminded myself with a smirk.

Sherlock didn't even glance our way as we joined him outside the classroom and Charlotte pointedly ignored him, striking up a conversation with Peter, one of the boys in our class.

"Hey Eliza."

That voice. Ugh, it sent a shiver up my spine, like forks scraping against a plate, and I fought the urge to shudder.

Instead, I forced myself to look into the eyes of Lewis Took, who leered back at me. How girls found him attractive was beyond me.

"Hi," I muttered stiffly, looking away again. Thankfully, my saviour arrived in the form of our teacher, Mr McKellan. His bright yellow shirt clashed with his ginger hair, slightly strained over his vast gut, but it matched his cheery attitude as he led us into the classroom.

The tables could hold up to eight students if we were strategic in our seating, and I took my usual place next to Charlotte, shrugging off my blazer.

"Take our your copies of The Bell Jar," Mr McKellan instructed, his Scottish brogue thick. "We'll be continuing with the work from last week."

Taking my copy of the book and my glasses out of my bag, I looked up at the sound of a chair scraping against the ground and felt the colour drain from my face when I saw Lewis sit next to me.

"What notes did you make for the question about blood?" Charlotte asked me, gaining my attention.

Everything was alright to begin with; I chatted with Charlotte, shared my notes and ignored Lewis, which was difficult considering how close to me he sat. I avoided looking his way. His feet brushed against mine under the table and he deliberately spread out his notes onto my desk so I had little room.

His hand rested on my knee. I looked up at him, but he seemed to be the perfect picture of innocence as he listened to a story Penny, one of the girls at our table, was telling.

Suddenly, his hand started to move upwards. I jerked backwards, scrambling to my feet in a desperate attempt to escape.

"Everything alright, Eliza?" Mr Mckellan asked.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I lied feebly, and he must've taken pity on me because he let me leave without question.

Lewis touched me. He actually touched me. I felt sick, locking myself in a toilet cubicle and sitting on the closed toilet lid. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks; I brushed them away.

"Eliza?" Charlotte asked. She must've followed me.

My hands shaking, I unlocked the door and shuffled out. Charlotte was leaning against the sinks.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said, washing my hands and using a paper towel to wipe my face.

"Don't let Lewis get to you," she comforted. "He's just a creep, he tries it on with everyone."

I didn't point out that Lewis had been 'trying it on' with me for several weeks now. I wished I could be like Sherlock and make some witty scathing remark that would put Lewis off me for life.

"Do you want to swap seats?" Charlotte offered. I nodded.

I felt more confident when I followed Charlotte back to class, smirking as she gathered her belongings and sat in the seat next to Lewis, smiling pleasantly at him.

Across the classroom, Sherlock was watching, his eyes narrowed and focused on Lewis. I wondered what he was thinking, what he could possibly be deducing that he hadn't already deduced, and his eyes darted across to meet mine. Blushing, I looked down at my notes.

The bell finally rung. I couldn't pack my books away fast enough.

"Eliza," Mr McKellan called. "I'd like a word, please."

Charlotte shot me a sympathetic look. I stayed behind, and Mr McKellan waited until the classroom was empty before he spoke.

"So," he began. "Lewis."

I fidgeted uncomfortably. "It's nothing, sir, I can handle it."

"You can't spend the rest of your life hiding from people like Lewis." Mr McKellan looked at me with a stern expression. "Bullying of any kind isn't tolerated here, Eliza."

"He isn't bullying me."

"Bullying isn't only physical, it can be verbal as well. If he's harassing you - "

"It's honestly nothing, sir," I interrupted. Mr McKellan looked at me for a long time before finally accepting my lies, dismissing me with a sigh and a nod. I practically ran to my Lewis-free lesson, double French.

Unfortunately, Charlotte wasn't in my class either, so I had to endure the two hours by myself. I enjoyed French; my teacher, Mademoiselle Claudine, was hilarious with her enthusiastic hand gestures and rolling her tongue every time she pronounced her 'r's.

My room was on the opposite side of the building from the dining hall, where Charlotte would be waiting for me, and the corridors were buzzing with activity as I walked through them. Younger students rushed past me and I rolled my eyes fondly, remembering what it was like to be their age. Boarding school was just another adventure, really.

The dining hall was even more crowded when I pushed open the double doors.

" - totally out of it - "

"I mean, who does he think he is?"

" . . . homework, I've got my . . . "

"No way!"

"I thought that maybe you and I could, you know, possibly, if you haven't - "

"Oh my God, Kenny, shut up."

The conversations intertwined with each other, making it impossible to focus on one as I joined the line, grabbing a plastic tray from the pile. Lunch was a hot sandwich and salad.

I spotted Charlotte immediately, sighing when I saw the last empty chair being filled. I looked around the hall, searching for another empty seat, and spotted one at the back of the hall. The entire table was empty and, walking towards it, I saw why.

Sherlock didn't look up from his book as I awkwardly approached the table, and I hesitated to gain his attention. Shifting from one foot to the other, I cleared my throat. He looked up.

"Do you mind . . . ?" My voice trailed off. "Can I sit down?" I asked.

"If you want."

"Thanks," I mumbled, dropping into the seat opposite him. There was an awkward silence. I shifted in my seat, crossed and uncrossed my ankles and pushed my salad around my plate. Sherlock looked like he hadn't touched his food. "Not hungry?" I asked.

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

Sherlock looked thoughtful and picked up his sandwich, taking a bite.

"Why does the day matter?"

"The body is merely transport," he explained. "and digestion slows down my thoughts."

"You don't eat?"

Sherlock sighed. "I do eat, I simply don't need to as often as the average person."

That would explain why he was so skinny. I looked at him with mild envy; I couldn't go a day without food.

"You shouldn't let him get to you."

"What?"

"Lewis will get bored eventually," Sherlock said. "Still, it would help if you stood up for yourself rather than run away."

"It's not as simple as that," I muttered.

"I don't see why not. He preys on girls like you."

I glowered slightly, spearing another forkful of salad, and realised that I hadn't introduced myself properly.

"I'm Eliza, by the way."

"I know." Sherlock looked up at me from under his eyelashes. "Our parents introduced us - "

" - when we were eleven," I finished. "How's Mycroft?"

Sherlock snorted derisively, muttering something under his breath.

I met Mycroft a few times, and though he was older than Sherlock and I, seven years older to be precise, he was always nice to me, if not a little . . . detached. It was like he had something on his mind, or somewhere more important to be.

"Don't do that," I muttered, noticing his eyes on me.

"Do what?"

"Analyse me." I squirmed in my seat, feeling my butt go numb, and added, "it's creepy."

"How?" Sherlock demanded incredulously, his features contorted into an expression of confusion. It didn't suit him.

I snorted. "When you stare at people for a prolonged period of time and make mental notes about them, it's creepy."

Slowly, Sherlock leaned forwards, his eyes narrowed slightly as his lips twisted into an almost playful smirk. Maybe I'd never been close enough to realise, but Sherlock was actually really pretty. His dark curls fell onto his forehead, his eyes were blue and green and grey all at once and his cheekbones . . . wow. I could see why Charlotte found him attractive.

"Don't you want to know what I've deduced about you?" he asked in a low voice. I blinked.

When I failed to answer, Sherlock smirked.

"You fell asleep with your glasses on last night but you woke up at some point and took them off, but you woke up early this morning and continued to read. Charlotte plucked your eyebrows last night and this morning you changed your parting. It doesn't suit you, go back to the style you usually wear it in. You're going into the village with Charlotte this weekend because you'll both have your allowance."

"Do I want to know how you did that?"

"There are indents on the bridge of your nose that are deeper than usual from the pressure of lying on them, emphasised because you were wearing them during lesson today. The shape of your eyebrows is different but subtle and you usually wear your hair in the middle as opposed to the side. Stop reading those stupid magazines Charlotte hoards, they really are no help," he added scathingly. "As for going to the village, I heard Charlotte talking about it this morning."

"That's cheating," I retorted.

"No it isn't, it's using my sense," Sherlock argued. I rolled my eyes. "Charlotte is watching us." I made to look over my shoulder but he snapped, "don't look."

"She's only staring because I'm sitting with you."

"Why would that make her stare?"

"Because you're an anti social weirdo."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment," I said slowly.

"Yes it was," Sherlock said. "Nicknames are a form of affection, which I am flattered by but you must know - "

"I don't fancy you!" I spluttered, louder than I intended because several people looked our way, sniggering. "I don't," I insisted, lowering my voice. Even if I did, which I didn't, I highly doubted that Sherlock would be remotely interested.

The thought made me blush.

I looked down at Sherlock's lips, briefly wondering what it would be like to kiss them . . .

Ugh. Oh God. That just made my blush even worse.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, noticing my flushed face.

"Yeah," I choked out, reaching for my drink and fumbling to open it.

Sherlock didn't look convinced. I felt his eyes on me and I forced myself to smile at him, though it probably looked more like a grimace. He responded with his own bracketed smile.

Wow. Awkward. I shifted in my seat, looking around and wishing desperately for the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. First I sat with Sherlock Holmes, then I thought he was pretty and I now I was thinking about kissing him.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Nope," I said quickly, grinning up at Charlotte with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"Well I need to go to get my history textbook from your locker, would you mind coming with me?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Ok, yeah, sure," I babbled, my chair nearly falling to the ground in my eagerness to get up. I caught it, blushing. "Bye," I said to Sherlock..

"Bye."

Charlotte looped her arm through mine and pulled me out of the hall so I was tripping over my own feet.

"What the hell, Eliza?" she demanded the moment we stepped into the corridor, letting go of my arm.

"There weren't any seats at our table," I mumbled.

"So you sat with Sherlock frickin' Holmes?"

"Yeah . . . "

"Weird." Charlotte grimaced, screwing up her nose. "What did you guys even talk about?"

"Just stuff." I shifted. "Catching up, you know?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot you two practically grew up together," she said dismissively, striding ahead. "It's still weird, though."

I smiled, catching up to her and letting her take my arm again, repeating a story told in my absence.

Sherlock and I weren't friends, but it was a beginning of something, and for some reason that made me smile even more.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2.**_

I didn't speak to Sherlock for the rest of the week, but only because it seemed he was avoiding me. He sat as far away from me in lesson as he could and Charlotte always made sure that I had a seat at the table during meal times, like she was worried I would abandon our friendship to pursue a new one with Sherlock. I didn't mind really, it was just irritating.

Charlotte and I bounded down the stairs, accompanied by Rachel and Penny, with whom we shared our dormitory. The three of them were chattering excitedly about our trip to the village, but I couldn't bring myself to be excited.

The dance was organised for the last week of the spring term, before we were due to leave for the Easter holidays, and I was dreading it. Most girls loved dances because they were an excuse to dress up and dance with the boy they'd fancied all term, but I hated dances. The idea of all those bodies packed together in one hall, sweaty and reeking of body odour, made me feel ill.

"Hey, there's your new best friend," Penny said with a giggle.

"He's not my best friend," I muttered, looking at Sherlock as he strode down the corridor in our direction. "You go ahead, I'll catch you up."

Sherlock almost walked straight into me, and if I hadn't shuffled to the side then he probably would've collided with me. He frowned at me.

"What are you doing?"

"I just came to see if you're alright," I said, scuffing my boot against the ground. Truthfully, I didn't know why I had stopped to speak with him. "You looked really determined," I added.

"I have somewhere to be," Sherlock said pointedly, looking bored by my amazing conversation skills. I blushed.

Glancing at the floor, I caught sight on his hand and frowned; his knuckles were grazed, bleeding a little bit.

"What happened?" I asked him, still frowning at his hand. Sherlock stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

"Nothing."

"Sherlock - "

"It is none of your concern, Eliza, and nor am I," Sherlock snapped back with such ferocity that I took a step back. Without another word, he brushed past me and continued to stalk down the corridor, leaving me puzzled and slightly hurt.

Frowning, I caught up with Charlotte, Rachel and Penny, who were waiting outside the school reception for me. After signing out, we were free to leave the grounds.

"So?" Charlotte demanded, taking my arm.

"Nothing happened," I said wearily.

"How boring."

I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to snap that I wasn't there to provide entertainment with recollections of the conversations that I had with Sherlock. Smiling, Charlotte looped her arm through mine.

The four of us filed onto the bus, taking up the back seat, and by the time we got to the next village I was actually looking forwards to dress shopping. It had been a long time since I properly treated myself.

* * *

"What about this one?" Charlotte asked me, holding up a silver dress that made me screw my nose up in distaste. "Ok, this one?" She held up a baby pink dress with a grin and I scowled at her.

"Face it, Charlotte, I'm never going to find a dress," I moaned, much to Rachel's amusement. She, Penny and Charlotte had already found their dresses. With shoes and matching accessories.

I, however, seemed to hate everything in the shop.

"No," she snapped. "We are going to find you a dress if it's the last thing we do."

Sighing, I continued to search the rails, grimacing at each dress that I looked at because none of them seemed to appeal to me.

"What about this one, dear?" the kind shop keeper, an elderly woman that had been incredibly helpful during our shopping, asked me, holding up a dress. I turned, expecting to hate it, and grinned.

The dress was perfect. It was deep purple with thick straps and a dip hem that brushed against my ankles when I tried it on.

"You look great," Penny told me with a wide grin.

I felt great, looking at my reflection with an even wider grin, reluctant to change back into my jeans and shirt.

We paid for our dresses - I thanked the shop keeper profusely, giving her a quick spontaneous hug in a burst of happiness - and got lunch before taking the bus back to school.

"I'm actually kind of looking forwards to the dance now," I admitted when we arrived at our dormitory, hanging up our dresses.

"Good," Rachel said with a beam. "Hey, do you fancy going down to music rooms? I think Justin and that lot are practising."

Penny and Charlotte agreed eagerly, always looking for an excuse to watch one of the few bands in our school practise, but I declined the invitation.

"What are you going to do?" Penny asked me. "Find Sherlock?"

Charlotte sniggered. "Ooh, you'll be snogging in the bushes next."

"Shut up," I grumbled, but grinned at them. Their teasing was only good natured.

I waited until their chatter and laughter had faded away completely before leaving the dormitory, a bag of sherbet lemons tucked into my pocket to snack on while I walked. I'd brought them in the village.

I wandered the grounds aimlessly for a while, uncertain as to why I ditched my friends and the opportunity to flirt with hot band boys to seek out Sherlock Holmes, possibly looking like a stalker by doing so. I didn't even know where he would be.

Someone shoved past me, but when I turned to snap at them, the words got caught in my throat. It was Lewis.

He scowled at me, the dried blood in the corner of his mouth cracking slightly, and stalked away from me without a word. Gobsmacked, I stared at his retreating form.

Frowning, I shook my head and continued to walk.

I searched the grounds of the school but I couldn't find Sherlock anywhere, which led me to my search inside the school, peering into every open classroom. I was aware that I was acting like a stalker but there was something about Sherlock that just drew me to him. And the encounter with Lewis had confused me.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked from behind me as I stood on my tiptoes, craning my neck to look in the window of the empty Maths classroom. I jumped.

"Oh, hi," I said casually, trying to look as if I hadn't been searching for Sherlock, who had been the one to make me jump. He raised an eyebrow.

"Hello."

There was an uncomfortable silence, in which I blushed and found myself unable to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"If you're looking for Charlotte, you'll find her in the music rooms," he told me.

"I'm not," I blurted out. "looking for her," I added. "I saw Lewis."

"He didn't harass you in any way, obviously," Sherlock muttered, his eyes flickering across my face as he studied me. I gasped as I suddenly made the connection.

"You punched him!" I said, staring at him.

"How did you know?" Sherlock didn't sound surprised by my realisation, but rather pleased.

"Your hand is grazed and his face was bleeding earlier," I explained. "He had dried blood around his mouth."

"It would seem that there is hope for you yet," he said thoughtfully before striding past me, leaving me slightly lost for words. Confused, I quickly followed him.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"Punching Lewis."

"You're welcome, though I didn't punch him for you."

"Then why did you punch him?" I asked, still trailing after him.

"I told him to stop harassing you and he made a derogatory comment concerning the pair of us so I punched him," Sherlock explained, turning a corner.

"Huh. Well, thanks anyway," I said, touched that he had taken it upon himself to defend me and my honour. I couldn't understand why he did that, but I didn't ask.

Sherlock didn't say anything about me following him, so I decided to carry on walking with him, reaching into my pocket and taking out the bag of sweets.

"Do you want a sherbet lemon?" I offered, holding out the bag. Sherlock looked at me with mild amusement.

"No, thank you."

"More for me," I said happily, unwrapping one and popping it into my mouth. "Are you going to the spring dance?"

"I suppose."

"I didn't think it was your sort of thing."

"It isn't," Sherlock said. "but unfortunately for both of us, attendance is mandatory."

"Damn," I said under my breath with exaggerated annoyance. "We could always sneak out, no one would notice." I didn't know why I was suddenly burdening myself on Sherlock, but having someone to plot with made me feel better.

"Considering that there are rumours of spiking the drinks circulating the school, the teachers probably wouldn't notice our disappearance," Sherlock agreed with a wry grin.

"How long do you think we should wait until we sneak out then?"

"That depends on how quickly our classmates start to display symptoms of intoxication."

"I guess that depends on how much alcohol they can handle," I muttered thoughtfully, trying not to feel intimidated by the way Sherlock spoke. We were both well spoken but he owned it whereas I was a bit sheepish of my 'posh' accent.

Again, Sherlock grinned down at me. I liked to think that he was warming to me.

"We should be able to leave within the first hour then."

"Great. I do feel like it's a waste of money if I'm only going to wear my dress for a couple of hours though," I admitted. I did like my dress after all.

"I'm sure you'll find another function to wear it at. Your parents are fond of parties."

"So is your mother."

Sherlock grimaced slightly at the mention of his mother, who he and Mycroft referred to and addressed as 'Mummy'. I'd met her on numerous occasions and the older woman never ceased to terrify me with her mere presence. There was something very intimidating about the Holmes family.

Though I didn't say, that was how Sherlock and I met; at one of his mother's functions. We were ushered out of the room and into Sherlock's play room, where we both sat in silence while he thought and I flicked through one of the various books I found on the shelf.

I wondered if he remembered. I didn't ask.

"Are you going home during the holidays?" I asked at a poor attempt to change the subject. Our families were always touchy subjects.

"That is the usual code of conduct. Mummy would have my head if I didn't go."

"I know how you feel, I'd give anything to stay here but my mum is like no, you have to come home," I imitated my mother's voice and Sherlock gave me a sideways glance.

"That was uncanny."

"Thanks. You know, you could always get a lift home with me," I said casually. "It would make more sense than two cars going in the same general direction and probably be better for the environment. I don't think Carl would mind." Carl was our chauffeur and I was babbling.

"If it can be arranged without inconvenience, then I would appreciate that," Sherlock said. "Thank you."

I grinned widely, unwrapping another sherbet lemon and popping it into my mouth. "Hey," I said, pushing the sweet against my cheek. "is my tongue yellow?"

I stuck my tongue out, giggling, and Sherlock nodded. I laughed again, popping my tongue back in my mouth, and grinned up at him.

"Are you sure you don't want one? I don't make these offers often so you should take the chance."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock dipped his hand into the paper bag I waved in front of and took out a sherbet lemon, tucking it into his pocket.

"You're welcome," I said curtly, grinning up at him as I turned on my heel and started to walk away. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Sherlock smirking.

"They're still in the music rooms," he called after when I reached the corner.

Pausing, I looked at him and grinned. "Thanks," I called back. Sherlock's lips twitched into the slightest of half grins before he turned around and walk back in the direction we'd just came.

* * *

Thank you MissPadawan, TheDoctor'sAmazingCompanion and TheRandomRavenclaw for reviewing!


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